


Our Song

by Lucky107



Series: Champagne Life [3]
Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Class Differences, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: The only sound to be heard this far from town is the quiet chirp of crickets.





	Our Song

**Author's Note:**

> Our Song - Taylor Swift - 2006

**September, 2006**

Flood lights bathe the football field in white, creating a surreal spotlight effect in the dark.

The only sound to be heard this far from town is the quiet chirp of crickets; the stillness of the night makes her skin crawl as she steps down that final step onto the football field.  She knows she's violating curfew, being out here at this hour, but she needs to clear her head.

Florence hasn't been back to the field since her disastrous breakup with the Bullhorns' fullback in the spring and cheerleading is a physically demanding exercise that her body just isn't ready for.  She's going to have to work for it if she hopes to make the cut this year.

However, a small part of her isn't sure that she wants to make the team.

Justin misses her company at the track, but—

"Hey!"  A voice calls out loudly.  Florence turns like a deer caught in the headlights, but the darkness masks her identity.  "Who's there?"

"Florence."

The stranger hurries down the steps, two at a time, until he's on her level and that's when she takes note of the staggering difference in height between them.  _Kirby Olsen_.  "You're in uniform," he notes.  "Here for a workout?"

If it's not just the effect of an exaggerated shadow, he appears to smile.

Stupidly, Florence has to glance to confirm that she really is in her athletic clothes before she offers, "I— _yes_.  I thought it might be cooler to run at night."

Kirby laughs.

"It's fall.  Most people wear sweaters out here when the sun's shining."

Florence can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, but she hopes the cover of darkness will provide some discretion.  He appears to let it slide with no further interrogation, instead moving in the direction of the football field.  She tags along, adjusting easily enough to the brisk pace Kirby has set for them as they walk along the dusty white line.

"Where're you from?"

"Belgium," she says, her eyes sober with nostalgia and loneliness.  "Have you ever been to Belgium?"

Kirby looks bewildered that she would even _ask_.  "You kiddin'?  Never left New Hampshire!"  He seems to laugh at the fact, but Florence finds it terribly disappointing.

Before they know it, their walk has become a jog.

"Belgium is beautiful," she reminisces.  "It is rich with history.  My home, Brussels, was not unlike the Vale in many ways.  The buildings, such lovely stonemasonry, and the colourful gardens—"

"Why'd you leave, then?"  He probes with a child's ignorance.

Florence shrugs her shoulders to release some of the day's tension and explains, "It was not my decision.  My father hopes to expand the family's business into America, so we must live and dwell here to that end."

The conversation falls short once they complete their first lap of the field, regulating their synchronized pace to prevent wearing down prematurely.  Kirby limits himself to whatever pace Florence sets for them, much to her surprise, long after the conversation ends.

But _this_ , she concludes, is a pace that she could get used to.


End file.
